


Trespassing in Tevinter

by dragongoats



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: The elves have all but disappeared from Thedas to aid Fen'Harel. Lavellan, escaped from the Kirkwall circle, finds herself entangled in a dangerous Tevinter plot involving the Herald of Andraste, several Magisters, and a broody lyrium-tattooed elf.Early mornings in Minrathous were serene as long as one didn’t examine the streets too closely for the stains of blood and secrets...





	1. Adaar

Early mornings in Minrathous were serene as long as one didn’t examine the streets too closely for the stains of blood and secrets.

Kaaras Adaar— ex-Inquisitor, ex-Herald, ex-Free-Marcher— often wandered these roads, before his teaching duties began at the Minrathous Circle. At this early hour, he could almost forget the horrors of this place: The Tevinter Magisters who were fond of street duals almost as much as clandestine blood rituals to augment their political positions; and the neglected populations of starving people who prowled the city streets seeking food and coin.

Adaar cherished these rare moments of quiet. The time before the daily fires were lit and the sky clouded with a film of smoke, before the cries of the hungry and hurting pierced the air, before the markets bustled, filled with the sounds and smells of bartered wares procured from every corner of Thedas: from fermented fish to ripe fruits; golden trinkets to marble sculptures.

Before reality placed its familiar and heavy burden on his shoulders, Adaar could breathe deep and enjoy the birds songs and the clear air.

In these early morning moments, he could stare at the sky and almost believe that he was _back in Skyhold_.

Adaar turned the street corner and headed up a narrow stairway in-between two buildings lopsided by the hands of time. Laundry lines hung haphazardly between them like multi-coloured banners and ivy snaked and spread up the sides of the stone walls. Ascending the stairs gave the first glimpses of the ocean and far off mountains as well as the towering shadow of the Circle.

The skyline in Minrathous _was_ lovely. It had a sunrise which took ones breath away, and buildings and sculptures which had stood for ages, a vast history woven into the very heart of the city.

_Yet it was not Skyhold._

Adaar ached for the brisk mountain air, the endless emptiness that only a secret magical fortress in The Frostbacks could provide. Despite the danger, the Inquisition, and its people, had felt like safety. It had felt like home.

Adaar had known that life had been temporary. He’d known that Dorian would leave and the easy peace they had found would end. Yet even so, in the quiet mornings in Skyhold, nestled next to Dorian, both still unwilling to acknowledge the start of the day, it had felt like it would last forever.


	2. Tallen Lavellan

Tallen Lavellan ran.

She ran over dew slicked cobblestones, bare toes gripping the edges best she could, hands catching her weight when she slipped. She ran as her heartbeat hammered in her ears, as her hands wrapped vice-like around a small satchel of 'procured' foods from a sleeping merchant. She ran as she gripped them all the tighter through alleys that stunk of waste, past watchful, suspicious eyes in darkened corners, past the glint of metal blades and teeth.

She ran until her feet were numb from the steady impact and her adrenaline had subsided.

She ran until she turned a sharp corner onto the main road hoping it would be safer in the broad light of day, that no one would jump her for what she carried.

Tallen Lavellan ran until she barrelled face first into a towering, well-dressed magister with horns like a Qunari and promptly fell back on her arse.

 

Tallen lay on her back, blinking at the early morning sun and the slow moving clouds. The food which she had been so carefully guarding had rolled out of her clutching hands. Her mind slowly caught up to the moment: how the crooked staff on her back dug painfully into her spine, the buzz of someone speaking to her, the moment of impact.

A large face blocked the sun. Tallen’s eyes snapped to attention and her heartrate spiked. Her vision swam but she managed to snatch up the bag of food and roll into a low, defensive stance. She felt her teeth bare and hoped that this Magister wouldn’t see fit to attack her or claim her as their own.

The Magister’s mouth was moving, his hands open in an apparent bid for peace. “ _Avanna_ , do you need aid?” He asked in accented Tevene.

Tallen’s neck twitched painfully but she kept her gaze locked. The Magister looked Qunari, a rare enough sight, and his accent hinted of Free-Marcher origins. Yet despite possible foreign origins and not being human, the richness and style of his dress underscored his position in the elite of this city. He had apparently adopted the Tevinter flare for embellishments as well: his horns and ears were wrapped in elegant, engraved golden caps. His ears and nose were adorned with several matching piercings.

Tallen was slightly taken aback by a Qunari Magister and momentarily wondered how such a thing had occurred. As the First in her Clan, she had loved a good story and had the circumstances been less dire, she would have considered asking. As it was, Tallen had no status in Tevinter and no love for Magisters. She had little reason to trust this one now. As she had discovered, one more hard lesson since leaving her clan, even the politest, most well-dressed Magisters harboured dark abuses.

Tallen knew she had to leave but the foreign Magister was blocking her exit. She could not turn back, not back into the dark alleys with hungry, watchful eyes. Tallen snarled, her Vallaslin of Elgar’nan distorted and vicious. “I need no help, _Magister_.” Tallen said. She spat the words, even as her body trembled with nerves.

Long ago, in another life she was a powerful mage, the First to her clan, a steadfast friend. Now, she was a stranger in a strange place, fighting just to survive. She felt the helplessness deep in her bones, seeping her very life.

The Magister’s face twisted in reaction, like he’d stepped on something sharp. His eyebrows knotted together and he cast his gaze downward.

 _As if apologising_.

Tallen had seen Magisters use guilt to control others, she refused to let her guard down, no matter how contrary this Magister was.

“Will you prevent me from leaving?” Tallen asked, her voice hard. She hadn’t moved from her defensive stance, though her eyes were intermittently darting to the Magisters hands. He had yet to reach for his staff, which was a good sign.

The Magister stared at Tallen, eyes wide. He shook his head minutely, when he spoke, his voice was low and gentle. “ _Kaffas_. No, of course not.”

The Magister stepped aside, and kept his hands dropped to his sides. Tallen side-stepped past him through the narrow stair-well, keeping as far from him as possible lest he suddenly change his mind.

“Please, be well.” The Magister murmured as she passed. She chanced a glance up, up, up at the towering height of the Qunari Magister. He still held an expression of concern, his head slightly bowed. His demeanor made Tallen feel uneasy. The simple, but hard truth Tallen had leaned since she was dragged to these shores was that Tevinter Magisters always wanted something. _Power, dominance, control. Everything was flashy and meant to impress._

_This was... well this was confusing indeed._

Tallen nodded her head, a small, jerk of her head in acknowledgement. Then she slipped away, clutching the stolen food, which promised to stave off starvation for another few days. She whispered an old Dalish prayer to the Creators that she make it home without further incident. 


End file.
